


The Starlight Affair

by PR Zed (przed)



Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-25
Updated: 2007-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-18 19:57:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/192667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/przed/pseuds/PR%20Zed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya, Napoleon, April and Mark investigate strange events at a New York planetarium.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Starlight Affair

**Author's Note:**

> **A Down the Chimney Affair gift for[](http://renn.livejournal.com/profile)[ **renn**](http://renn.livejournal.com/)**

  
**Christmas Eve**

Under different circumstances, he might have found the scenery beautiful. They were in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by pine trees, drifting snow glinting brightly with the light of the full moon. Above them, picturesque snow clouds were starting to block out the stars.

As a few snowflakes settled on his bare hand, Illya Kuryakin looked up at the sky. There wasn't much coming down yet, but the clouds above him seemed ripe with the promise of more snow to come.

He finished tying the makeshift bandage on April's arm. "How's that feel?" He patted her back and looked into her eyes. April's mouth was compressed into a thin line and even in the night time gloom her skin was unnaturally grey.

"How do you think it feels?" She struggled to stand. "Like I've been shot."

"I _had_ noticed that." Illya gave her a wry grin that he hoped hid the worst of his worry. "Do you think you can walk?"

"I'm going to have to, aren't I?" She looked behind her. "They're on their way."

Illya didn't respond to that at all, just helped her to her feet. He wished the snow wasn't so deep. Made it harder to travel and far easier to track them. Between their prints in the snow and the blood trail April had left, Illya guessed it wouldn't be long before their pursuers caught them. With any luck they'd reach the highway and a phone before that happened.

"Come on," he said, putting an arm around April's waist.

* * *

 **Two Days Earlier**

"Tell me again why we're here?" Mark Slate said as he dodged yet another swarm of children. April nearly laughed out loud at Mark's look of alarm at the waves of children rushing to be the first up the steps of the American Museum of Natural History.

"Because Mr. Waverly thinks there's something odd about the new show at the planetarium," Napoleon Solo said as if he were talking to an idiot child.

"In the past week there have been twelve children and five adults, all with no history of mental illness, who have had unexplained psychotic episodes," Illya said, taking up the story.

"And the only thing linking them is that they'd all visited the planetarium within two days of suffering an attack." Napoleon finished off and gestured to the building in front of them. "Hence, our visit."

"I know all _that_ ," Mark said impatiently. "I was awake during the briefing. But I mean, why all of us. Surely you and Illya could have handled this. Or we could have. But it hardly seems like the sort of thing that should take four agents."

"Napoleon was doing you a favour," Illya said curtly, whilst neatly avoiding three blonde girls in pigtails seemingly intent on running him down.

"A favour?" April allowed her curiosity to show in her voice.

"I heard Mr. Waverly was planning on sending you to North Dakota until the New Year."

"North Dakota?"

"You know, that place north of South Dakota. Cold. Unwelcoming." Napoleon shivered for dramatic effect.

"Rather like Siberia without the vodka," Illya filled in helpfully.

"I'm sure you can get vodka in North Dakota," Napoleon said.

"Not good vodka," Illya countered.

"Not _Russian_ vodka," Napoleon clarified.

"Same thing."

"All right, you two," April broke into the famed Solo/Kuryakin double act before they completely forgot their colleagues in favour of entertaining each other. "You saved us from North Dakota. We get it." She gestured to the museum entrance now looming before them. "Shall we get on with our job?"

"After you, April," Napoleon said with a gallant sweep of his arm.

"Thank you, _monsieur_." April executed a deep curtsey and flounced through the door. Illya shared a shrug with Mark and they followed. Napoleon was left on his own to bring up the rear of their company.

The interior of the museum was, if possible, even more chaotic than the front steps. Children ran around, oblivious to their parents' and nannies' exhortations to stay close, to not run, and to please not scream. April smirked as Mark winced at a tribe of seven year olds, overseen by one very tired looking woman, seeing who could scream the loudest. Illya, on the other hand, seemed completely unruffled by the chaos.

"How do you do it, old chap?" Mark asked his colleague.

"What?" Illya asked.

"Ignore all this noise."

"Oh that." Illya shrugged and raised an eyebrow. "My current neighbours have twin boys. Living beside them is rather like combat training in a real war. You either survive or you don't."

"Remind me not to come over to your place if I want a quiet night in."

"You're such a coward, Mark," April said with a grin. She turned to Napoleon. "So what's the plan, _mon capitain_?"

"Divide our forces and double our chances, I think." Napoleon's eyes were sweeping the space, no doubt performing the usual calculations on escape routes and surveillance traps that were essential to their job. "Illya, I think you and April should seek out the nice gentlemen who run the equipment for the planetarium show. Mark and I will take in a show and see if there's anything suspicious about it."

"No fair, Napoleon." April looked noticeably crestfallen. "I wanted to see the show. It looks fascinating."

"I don't see what all the fuss is about," Illya said with a shrug.

"Oh, come on, Illya. It's about the scientific and historical background of the Star of Bethlehem. That should be right up your alley."

"Assuming that the Star of Bethlehem existed and wasn't just part of some fairy tale…"

"Heathen," Napoleon interrupted, speaking out of the corner of his mouth.

"Atheist," Illya corrected without missing a beat. "Assuming that, then the likelihood is that it was simply a rather bright supernova. So the wondrous star that lit the way of your three wise men was simply marking the death of a solar system, millions of years after the fact."

"You wouldn't know Dr. Suess, would you?" April asked Illya.

"Is he an astronomer?"

"No, a writer. And I think he might have used you as a model for the Grinch."

"Who is this Grinch?"

"You haven't heard of the Grinch?"

"One of the twins--I think it was Tommy, although you never can tell--called me the Grinch yesterday."

"Whatever for?"

"I believe it was because I told him that Christmas was nothing more than an excuse for capitalistic excess."

"Does he ever lighten up?" April asked Napoleon.

"He has lightened up. Hadn't you noticed?"

In reply, Illya shot both April and Napoleon a look of long-suffering pain.

"Come on, Mark." Napoleon nudged Mark's arm. "Let's go watch a supernova."

April grinned at Illya. "Well, Illya. Shall we go dazzle a few technicians?"

"I'll leave the dazzling to you. My expertise lies elsewhere."

* * *

By Illya's calculations, they'd come nearly two miles. Two miles through drifted snow, with more of the stuff falling from the sky all the time. Although he supposed he should be happy that the moon was still providing them enough light to see by. Barely. He suppressed a shiver and caught April by the elbow as she nearly fell.

"Not far now," he said.

"Do you know that for sure?" April sounded as exhausted as she looked, and Illya was trying not to think about the increasing patch of red showing through the bandage on her arm.

"No," he admitted, if reluctantly. "But we must be getting close to the road."

"Great," April said, forcing her way through yet another knee high drift of snow. "I get stuck in a snowstorm with the one agent in U.N.C.L.E. who's incapable of telling a nice, little, sociable, white lie."

"Lies are never white. Not in my experience, anyway." Illya did not elaborate. Some experiences he didn't share. Not even with Napoleon, and certainly not with April or Mark. He'd no wish to inflict his personal nightmares on his friends.

"I suppose I should be grateful for your honesty." April floundered again, and yet again, Illya caught her.

"Yes, you definitely should." Illya put his arm around April's waist and let her put as much of her weight on him as she wanted. "Come on, let's find that road."

* * *

The planetarium's technicians proved far too easy to dazzle. Two young men in white lab coats, they were clearly not used to charming and beautiful young women fawning all over them. When April knocked on the control room door, they stumbled all over each other trying to answer her questions as she drew them down the hall. Which gave Illya the time he needed to investigate the control room.

What Illya found while April acted as a diversion was…interesting, if not entirely conclusive. The controls for the Zeiss projector seemed normal enough, but there was a set of secondary controls that he couldn't determine the use of. And there was one more thing he found.

As he slipped out of the control room he saw April blowing air kisses to the stunned technicians as they blushed and waved back.

"It's really quite disgusting how easily my gender can be distracted by yours," Illya said as they met up around the corner from the control room.

"Just be thankful you can't be distracted by anything but a fascinating problem in physics or strategy," April said with a wink. "So, did you find anything?"

"Some controls that seem out of place, and this." Illya produced a small, metal cylinder from where he'd hidden it in his pocket.

"What on earth is that?"

"I've no idea, but I suspect it shouldn't have been in the control room of a planetarium." Illya put the mystery object back in his pocket. "I'll take it to the labs as soon as we get back to headquarters."

"What are you going to take back to headquarters?" Napoleon appeared at Illya's side, with Mark not far behind him.

"I'm not sure yet. I'll let you know when we have it analyzed."

"What about you two?" April asked. "Was there anything odd about the planetarium show?"

"No." Napoleon shook his head. "Lots of stars, a supernova or two, nothing out of the ordinary."

"There was the fog," Mark said.

"Fog?" Illya asked. That was just the sort of unusual thing that they were looking for.

"Just a special effect," Napoleon said quickly. "A bit corny, if you ask me." Napoleon's tone was what Illya would expect, amused and yet world weary, but it was his expression that caught Illya. For a second, Napoleon gave Mark a hardened look that seemed to be aimed at quelling his subordinate's desire to talk. The look was so unlike Napoleon that it made the flesh on Illya's arms crawl in warning. But before he could decipher it fully or even look to April for confirmation, the look was gone, leaving Illya wondering what he'd seen, or if he'd seen anything at all.

"Not everyone can be as sophisticated as you, Napoleon," April said with a laugh.

"I tell him that constantly," Illya said, deciding to behave normally. "Now can we get back to headquarters? The sooner we get the results of our lab tests, the sooner we can find out there's nothing wrong."

"I certainly hope it's nothing." Mark bounded ahead of them all. "I wanted to take April skiing, if we got some time off."

"You just want to see me fall."

Illya let his friends' banter pass around him as he fingered the small cylinder in his pocket. As he followed Napoleon, April and Mark out into the crisp, winter air, he wondered if they'd stumbled onto more than they'd counted on. He told himself that everything was fine, that he'd imagined that look of Napoleon's, and that his friends had not been affected by whatever it was going on at the planetarium. But in the end, he didn't know if he believed it.

* * *

April gritted her teeth as she tripped and fell yet again, Illya's hold on her not enough to keep her upright. At least she'd managed to catch herself with her good arm. This time. Though how much longer she could keep going in the cold and snow, she wasn't entirely sure.

She tried blanking her mind and concentrating only on taking the next step, and the next one, and the next one after that.

After five minutes or fifty, she was never sure, Illya spoke. "We're here."

At first she wasn't sure what he meant. She'd long ago stopped taking in their surroundings, stopped thinking about anything but keeping on the move. But now she looked up and found that they were on the top of a rise, with the highway twisting like a grey ribbon through the valley below them. Trained agent she might be, but April nearly sobbed with relief.

"Are we close to a town?"

"I can't tell from here, but we shouldn't have far to go. We are, after all, just in New Jersey."

"We're in a state forest, Illya. We could be miles from a town."

"And they say I'm the cynic." Illya gave her a smile that took the edge off the hysteria she could feel building inside her. "Come on." He took hold of her good arm and put it across his shoulders. "If we can't find a town, there are plenty of farms. Surely we can find someone to make you hot chocolate."

"I'd settle for some lousy coffee, right about now."

"I'm sure we can manage that." They set off down the hill, with Illya making sure she didn't lose her balance on the grade and fall yet again.

The edge of the road was perhaps ten feet away when April thought she heard something.

"Is that…?" She couldn't even finish the thought.

"I think it might be," Illya said.

"Rats," April said as she began scanning their surroundings for something resembling cover.

"That seems a little inadequate, under the circumstances."

"Illya, you of all people should know that a lady never uses bad language." April batted her eyelashes.

"I didn't realize that U.N.C.L.E. hired ladies as field agents." Illya's tone was as dry as old twigs.

"I'll get you for that," April said without much conviction.

"You do that. _After_ we've gotten out of this."

* * *

By the time they returned to headquarters, Illya had all but forgotten Napoleon's look and dismissed any suspicions as fanciful imaginings brought on by low blood sugar. He bid his friends goodbye with a wave, had a quick lunch in the cafeteria, brought the cylinder to the labs, and then watched and assisted as the chemistry department analyzed the substances it contained.

It was a fascinating cocktail of drugs and previously unknown chemicals, and U.N.C.L.E.'s crack team of chemists were only beginning to guess its purpose when April dropped by for a visit.

"Illya." April waved to catch his attention, then looked at him with an expression that was at least partly embarrassment. That, on its own, was unusual. April Dancer, in Illya's experience, didn't go in for embarrassment. "Could I talk to you for a minute?"

"Of course." Illya left the spectrographic analysis he'd been looking at on his bench and led April out into the hall. "What is it?"

"Have you noticed anything, well, odd about Napoleon?"

"I notice odd things about Napoleon on a daily basis."

"I'm being serious, Illya." April bit her lip and Illya immediately regretted his flip answer.

"I'm sorry, April." He put a hand on her shoulder. "Napoleon will tell you I'm not noted for my tact. Could you be more specific?"

"Have you noticed anything odd about Napoleon since we got back from the museum?"

"Not really." Illya was reluctant to mention the look he'd seen at the museum. It was such a subjective thing, and he prided himself on following reason and empirical evidence. "I've been in the lab since I got back, but Napoleon hasn't done anything too unusual in the little time I have seen him."

"Oh." April seemed visibly let down by this, her shoulders slumping and her hands clenching.

"What's all this about?"

"It's Mark. He's been just a bit off since we got back from the museum. Not quite acting like himself. It's like…" April paused as if she were considering how to describe her problem. "It's like there's frosted glass between me and the Mark I know, like I can see the outline, but the details aren't quite right. Does that make any sense?"

"Of a sort. Are you sure he's not just tired? Or perhaps you are?"

"No, Illya," April snapped. "I'm not tired. And I'm not some hysterical girl, jumping at shadows." She stopped herself and took a deep breath. "I thought I was imagining things myself, I really did, but he just called soccer, well soccer."

"That hardly seems conclusive, April."

"You don't understand Illya. Mark is fanatical about football. Gets the English papers just so he can follow his team. Complains when I call it soccer. Which of course I do all the time, to annoy him. He would _never_ call the game soccer. Never."

"What are you saying, April? That Mark's been replaced? Because Thrush has already tried that once and it didn't work."

"No, that's not it. Because I know he's Mark, absolutely. But he's not acting like himself."

If there was one thing Illya knew, it was that April Dancer was not hysterical, and that her professional instincts could always be trusted. But like the look he'd seen from Napoleon, there didn't seem to be anything they could act on, nothing Mark had done except use a word he wouldn't normally.

"I don't think we have enough evidence to do anything, April."

"But? You are going to give me a but, right?"

"But I do think you should keep an eye on Mark. And I will do the same with Napoleon. Once I'm done down here, anyway."

"And you'll let me know? If you find out what's going on?"

"I'll let you know."

"Thanks, Illya." April leaned forward and gave him a quick, sisterly peck on the cheek. "You're a prince."

"By the way," Illya called after April, unable to suppress his curiosity. "What football club _does_ Mark support?"

"Ipswich Town." Illya must have let his surprise show in his face. "I know, they're obscure, but there's no accounting for taste. _And_ they managed to win the title a few years back, so they can't be completely pathetic."

Illya made his way back to the labs with a distinct sense of superiority. One thing he did know from his time in England was that Tottenham was the only club worth supporting.

As he continued to follow the progress in the labs, Illya mulled over April's news and considered again the look Napoleon had given Mark at the museum. Perhaps they were being paranoid, he and April, a hazard of their vocation. But on the other hand, it wouldn't hurt to be careful. If there really were something wrong with them, Napoleon and Mark would thank them in the end. Not to mention Waverly.

But as the afternoon passed into early evening, the thrill of the scientific chase absorbed all of Illya's interest and the only thing he was thinking of was the analysis of their mystery chemicals. Which was the only reason he had for why he didn't hear Napoleon approaching.

"How's my favourite Russian?"

Illya whirled to find Napoleon standing over him, his top coat slung over one shoulder and what looked like a bottle of wine under one arm.

"Recovering from the fright his partner just gave him," Illya said crossly. "You could give a man some warning."

"Now where would be the fun in that?" Napoleon gave him a grin. "How goes the battle?" He nodded at the papers Illya had been immersed in.

"We can't see the victory yet, but I have confidence that we will win in the end." Illya looked pointedly at the bottle Napoleon held. "Are you going out on a date while I slave over a hot Bunsen burner?"

"Well, it's not like I can help out with the science stuff. And Deborah promised me a thrilling evening at her place." He flourished the bottle at Illya. "I'm supplying the wine."

Illya frowned. "I thought you told me Deborah was a champagne snob?" Napoleon wasn't one to kiss and tell, but he did share the odd detail about his dates.

"I suppose," Napoleon said. "So?"

"So that," Illya stabbed a finger at the label, "is a spumante, not a champagne. It sparkles, I'll grant you, but it's not at all the same thing."

"Oh well," Napoleon said with an alarming lack of concern. "I'm sure she won't mind." He looked at his watch and frowned. "But she will mind if I'm late. I'll see you tomorrow morning. Ciao."

" _Do svdanya_ ," Illya said to Napoleon's back as he watched him leave the lab. He waited until the door had slid shut after him, then moved to a corner of the room and pulled out his communicator. "Open Channel D. April Dancer."

"Illya?" April sounded confused, and Illya didn't blame her. He wasn't in the habit of calling her after hours when they weren't on an assignment together. "What's up?"

"I believe you," Illya said without preamble.

"What happened?"

"Napoleon just mixed up a spumante with a champagne. And didn't seem to care when I pointed out the difference."

"That doesn't sound like Napoleon."

"It's not. He taught me about wine when I arrived in New York. And he was very insistent on my understanding the qualities of each varietal. For him to confuse the two wines is…"

"As wrong as Mark calling football soccer. And as hard to explain to anyone else."

"Exactly."

"So what should we do?"

"I am going to convince the team to stay as long as it take to find out what these chemicals are. I think that might go some way to explaining our partners' behaviour. Fortunately, not much can stand between a scientist and an interesting problem. And this is a very interesting problem."

"And me?"

"I think you should keep an eye on Mark. Informally, of course. We don't have enough to go to Waverly with yet. He's just as likely to tell us to rely on our own initiative."

"I've heard that lecture enough times."

"Once we know what chemicals were in that cylinder, I'll be in touch."

"You do that, Illya," April said before disconnecting.

Illya put his own communicator away, hoping that they were just being paranoid, even while he was certain they were not. Steeling himself for a long night to come, he stood and got ready to rally his troops.

* * *

Standing in the middle of the road, Illya could hear a muted roaring sound coming from the direction they'd just come from. It wasn't loud yet, but Illya imagined it was only going to get louder.

"I don't suppose it's too much to hope that those are innocent snowmobilers out for a pleasant evening's ride," April said.

"You can think that if you like, April."

"I'd like to think that very much, but I don't suppose it's true." Illya looked over and was alarmed to see that April looked even weaker than she had a few minutes ago. He put a hand on her elbow to steady her and tried to decide where their best chance was. It wasn't a promising area for cover. There were plenty of trees, but none of them were big enough for even April to hide behind. But there was a ditch. And a rather large boulder. Illya began calculating angles and coverage and the speeds needed for his rapidly forming plan to work.

"How are you feeling, April?"

"Not good."

"Good enough to be bait?"

"Bad enough to be bait. What are you thinking?"

"I thought if you hid there," he pointed to the ditch, "then I could hide back there…" he nodded at the boulder. He could see from her face that April knew exactly what he was suggesting.

"That really could work. But what are we going to use for weapons? Snowballs?"

"I've still got these." Illya took the three silver objects he'd almost forgotten about out of his coat pocket.

"Unconventional, but serviceable." April gestured at one of the objects. "Give me one."

"I assume you know how to use it?"

"Point and pull the trigger." April took it in her hand and tested her grip.

"Essentially, yes. But remember it only works on contact. And there's only one dose. Waste it and…"

"We won't have a second chance. I get it, Illya."

"Fine."

* * *

Illya was right about his scientific colleagues: if a problem was interesting enough, they were willing to give up sleep to chase it down. They were no different from field agents, in their way, but they worked with test tubes and spectrometers instead of guns and speeding cars.

As dawn approached without them having found an answer, Illya started insisting that they all take at least catnaps, in rotating shifts, to allow the work to continue. It would do no one any good if they were all too tired to recognize an answer that had been staring them in the face for hours. And it was when Illya allowed himself to take an extremely short nap--less than half an hour--that the newest member of the team, a biochemist named Rick Mittell, stumbled on the answer.

The first Illya heard about it was when Rick knocked on the door of his office, which is where he'd decided to try and lay his head down.

"Mr. Kuryakin?"

Illya came awake immediately, one of the skills working in the field had taught him. He was standing before the door slid open to admit Mittell. "Do you have something?"

Mittell nodded, his excitement clear in the nervous energy of his movements.

"You can explain while we walk," Illya said, motioning Mittell back out the door and pointing him toward the labs.

"Well, it was all about how we were looking at the problem. Individually, the chemicals didn't look like much, but together, the molecules started to look familiar."

"And?"

"It was from a paper I read last year, about drug therapies that could be used to induce brainwashing."

"Go on," Illya urged.

"The thing is, the drugs in the paper aren't effective by themselves. They have to be used in conjunction with visual stimulation or they don't do anything."

And suddenly it all fit: the cylinder, Mark's mention of a fog in the show, the extra controls in the planetarium, the show itself, Napoleon's look. Thrush, because it must be Thrush, was pumping the chemicals in gas form into the planetarium shows, and then using the show to induce some sort of brainwashing. It was audacious, running a giant brainwashing operation in the heart of Manhattan. They must have caught hundreds, if not thousands of people in their net, Napoleon and Mark amongst them. It was all more urgent than he'd thought at the beginning.

"Is there an antidote?"

"I'm not sure." Mittell frowned. "It was in the very early stages of development when I read the article."

"Well, it's not anymore," Illya said as they arrived at the door of the lab. "Your job right now is to find that antidote, as quickly as possible." Illya started to move away.

"What will you be doing, Mr. Kuryakin?"

"I'll be back. But first I have to see Mr. Waverly. He needs to know what you've found."

Illya didn't wait to see if Mittell followed his orders; he knew he would. He headed straight to Waverly's office and informed him of what they knew and of the suspicions he and April had about what might have been done to their respective partners. His first instinct was to pull Napoleon and Mark in immediately and place them under observation, but Waverly overruled him.

"Think of what we might learn if they're left free, Mr. Kuryakin. Now that we know what's happened, we can prevent them from turning any secrets over to Thrush or committing sabotage, but they might reveal Thrush secrets to us."

"April is already watching Mark."

"Then she shall continue to do so. I think we can let U.N.C.L.E.'s internal security handle Mr. Solo for now. If he ventures out of the building, we can assign an agent to track him."

"I can do that." Napoleon had saved Illya's life more times than he'd like to count. He didn't like to leave his welfare in the hands of anyone else.

"I think your talents would be best used in the lab right now, don't you?"

Reluctantly, Illya ventured back to the lab, overseeing the search for an antidote. Researchers were assigned to go through the literature that Mittell had read, while others explored their own avenues of inquiry. Illya checked in regularly with April on his communicator, informing her of what they'd found and getting reports from her on Mark. So far, her partner had done nothing more extraordinary than writing up reports and lounging about in the cafeteria.

But then in the early afternoon, just as his team was beginning to make headway with the antidote, he heard the signal on his communicator.

"Kuryakin."

"Illya. It's April. Mark has met up with Napoleon and they've left the building. They're heading toward Napoleon's car right now."

"Can you follow them?"

"Absolutely."

"Do it. Keep in touch. Let us know where they go. And I'll contact you when I have more information here."

"All right, Illya," April said, signing off.

Illya immediately contacted Mr. Waverly, who agreed that letting April follow their two wayward agents was the best course of action.

"Who was that?" Mittell asked as Illya was putting his communicator away.

"Miss Dancer and Mr. Waverly," Illya said.

"Miss Dancer?" Mittell said with a stutter and a blush.

"Yes," Illya said with a roll of his eyes. Clearly, April had made at least one conquest in the labs. "And she's going to need that antidote sooner rather than later." Mittell stared at him dumbly. "So get on with it." The young man started and went back to his station. "That goes for all of you," Illya said to the room in general. "We need that antidote rather urgently now, so get to work."

* * *

April crouched in the ditch, waiting as the sound of snowmobiles got closer and closer. Her right arm was throbbing with pain from the bullet wound; her left arm felt almost completely numb from the cold. She wasn't sure which was worse.

She was absolutely certain that she didn't enjoy being bait, staked out like a nanny goat, waiting for the tiger to appear. She knew why Illya had suggested it and she agreed that it was their best shot at survival, but it didn't mean she had to like it.

She forced her breathing to remain slow and steady, to show no sign of the anxiety building up in her limbs, in her gut. Not even when three snowmobiles appeared at the top of the hill, where she and Illya had been not twenty minutes before.

She thought the man on the first snowmobile might be the Thrush who'd been in charge at the ranger's station, Roland Devereux, but she was absolutely certain she knew the one on the second. She would have recognized Mark Slate in a dark alley on a moonless night. Partners survived by knowing each other better than family, better than lovers, and she knew Mark very well indeed. And she'd worked with Napoleon often enough to identify him as the third man, even from this distance.

It would have been so much better for them if Mark and Napoleon had come alone, but apparently that was too much to ask.

She watched as the three men eased their machines down the hill, following the trail she and Illya had made getting here. She was exposed enough that she knew it wouldn't take long for them to find her, nor did it. The men turned off their machines and dismounted once they reached the bottom of the hill, and within seconds, Devereux was pointing toward her location. All three men drew handguns out from beneath their jackets and aimed them in her direction.

"April," Mark said. "Why don't you make this easy and just come out?" She shivered slightly, more in reaction to hearing Mark talk to her as if she were the enemy than from the cold.

She waited a bit, long enough to sell the story she and Illya had concocted between them, and then she stood up, exposing herself to her pursuers. The reluctance of her movements was anything but faked.

"Why not?" she said. "It's not like I have a choice." She carefully kept her hands out of her pockets and in sight.

"No, you don't." April didn't think she'd ever heard Napoleon's voice sound so sinister. "Where's Illya gotten to?"

"Far from here, I hope. I couldn't keep up and told him to go ahead. And I'm not going to tell you in which direction, so don't bother asking."

"We will bother asking, Miss Dancer." Devereux finally spoke. "And you will tell us everything. After you've received our treatment." A malevolent smile on his face, the man turned to Mark. "Won't she, Mr. Slate?"

"You will, April. You'll understand it's all for the best."

"I don't think that's likely." April stood her ground, counting on them coming to her.

"It's not just likely," Devereux said. "It's inevitable."

Then they all started moving toward her. She tried to keep her muscles relaxed and ready to spring, tried to ignore the fatigue and cold and pain that had worn her down to nothing. And she waited for her moment.

* * *

All through the afternoon, Illya's team struggled to come up with an antidote that would safely counteract the effects of the Thrush brainwashing drug. And the whole time, April reported in on Mark and Napoleon's movements, following them as they made various stops in Manhattan and then took the Holland Tunnel through to New Jersey. Each stop she made was noted and U.N.C.L.E. surveillance was deployed to determine its link to Thrush.

Mark and Napoleon didn't stop in any major centre in New Jersey, but continued on to route 206. April called in several more times to confirm her location and let them know that Mark and Napoleon had made no more stops. And then, just after the sun had set, she called to say that Mark and Napoleon were at the entrance of the Stokes State Forest and that she was going to leave her car and try and approach them.

Illya waited, fifteen minutes, thirty, an hour, and there was no other communication from April. He finally broke down and called her, the possibility of her communicator revealing her position to Thrush outweighed by his need to find out what had happened, but there was no response. U.N.C.L.E.'s communication centre confirmed that April's homing signal hadn't been activated and they hadn't heard anything either.

Illya paced the lab, waiting as Mittell and the others put the finishing touches on their antidote. At six o'clock precisely, they announced that they'd succeeded.

"Good." Illya threw off his lab coat and looked at the test tube in Rick Mittell's hand. "Can you load up three injection guns with that?"

"But it hasn't been tested!" Mittell looked shocked that his work was about to be taken into the field. "We'd need to run trials and look for side effects and…"

"And that's all well and good, but we don't have time. We have two agents who've very likely been affected and another who's disappeared. I need something that will work now."

Though he clearly wasn't happy about it, Mittell produced three of their new injection guns, guaranteed to deliver their payload even through clothing.

"Why three? Why not just two?" he asked as he handed the guns to Illya.

"Because if April has been captured, she might have been turned as well."

Mittell looked even younger than his tender years as his mouth formed a surprised O. Illya was glad that U.N.C.L.E.'s scientists were seldom called upon to go into the field. Most of them, like Mittell, wouldn't have lasted ten minutes.

Illya stopped by his office to pick up his gun and winter gear. Then it was off to Waverly's office to quickly share his plan. Waverly promised to assemble a team and send backup within the hour. He was on the road less than ten minutes after Mittell had given him the antidote.

It could be a two hour drive to April's last known location. Completely disregarding all speed limits, Illya made it in less than an hour and a half. He found April's car sitting at the side of the road, exactly where she'd told them she'd stopped. He searched the car, but found nothing out of the ordinary. No sign of a struggle, no mysterious clues, just April's car without April in it.

Illya left his car behind hers and made his way toward the ranger's station shown on his map of the area. It seemed the most likely spot to search for their missing agents. He kept to the edges of the forest, glad he'd thrown proper winter boots into his car at the last minute. The fashionable footwear Napoleon insisted on wearing on Manhattan's streets wouldn't have kept his feet warm for a minute here.

The ranger station, when he found it, was lit up inside and out. That would make it hard to approach. But on the positive side, there didn't seem to be any guards. He made his way to the main building as carefully as he could manage and peered in through a window. It was clear he'd found his target; there were two men in what looked to be a front hall wearing Thrush uniforms and carrying the organization's distinctive rifles. He could see no sign of Napoleon, Mark or April, though, so he made his way to the next window.

This window revealed a large room warmed by a crackling fireplace. Mark and Napoleon stood on either side of the mantelpiece, looking on impassively as a dark-haired, vicious-looking man held a gun on April. He seemed to be interrogating her. Almost every fear that Illya'd had about his friends seemed to have come true, except for finding them dead.

He calculated his chances of getting into the station and getting everyone out without any casualties, and didn't like the results. He scanned the area surrounding the building. There were several outbuildings that looked like they held equipment, and three vehicles: two pickup trucks and Napoleon's car.

He didn't stand a chance of getting into the station, but if he could get everyone out…then he might be able to manage a rescue that wouldn't turn into a suicide mission. He looked at the sightlines from the station's windows, chose his target and got to work.

Ten minutes later, he was waiting in the shadow of one of the outbuildings. As he watched, one of the pickup trucks exploded, its gas tank ignited by an improvised fuse. The door to the main building flew open seconds later and three Thrush, including the dark-haired man Illya had seen questioning April, came running out. The dark-haired man directed the other two to put out the fire.

Illya held his position. Distracting his enemies was part of his plan, but only part. What he really needed was to get Napoleon, Mark and April away from this place, but he could only do that if they came outside. He waited another thirty seconds, as the flames from the pickup leapt higher into the sky and the Thrush goons ran about like young boys more experienced at watching a fire burn than putting one out.

Illya had nearly decided to risk entering the building and grabbing his friends when there was movement on the front porch. The door opened and April Dancer came out, looking none the worse for wear. Following her, and holding a gun on her back, was Mark Slate. Mark looked utterly impassive, as if he held his partner at gunpoint every day. Napoleon brought up the rear, and he also had a gun in his hand.

Illya waited to act until the three U.N.C.L.E. agents had moved off the porch and were standing on the snow-covered ground. He drew out his own gun, aimed carefully, and shot one of the Thrush goons. The man fell down and stayed down, making Illya smile with a grim satisfaction. He tried to draw a line on one of the two remaining Thrush men, but everyone had found cover.

Everyone but Napoleon, Mark and April. As he watched, Mark drew April closer to him and put a gun against her head, while Napoleon scanned the yard, clearly looking for the shooter.

"Illya," Napoleon yelled. "I know that must be you. Come out with your hands up or Mark will shoot April."

Looking at Mark's impassive face, Illya knew that was exactly what would happen if he didn't comply with Napoleon's demands. Faced with no other alternative, he walked forward, hands up, his right index finger through the trigger guard of his gun.

Napoleon smiled when he saw him, and it was chilling how much the smile was like Napoleon's usual friendly expression.

"Throw the gun to me," Napoleon said. "And your communicator." Illya complied, not seeing that he had any choice.

"Hello, April."

"Hello, Illya." April's tone was calm, but he wouldn't have said she looked happy. "I hope this isn't your idea of a rescue."

"I seem to have miscalculated." Illya kept his hands up and moved toward April. He needed to be a little closer to her…

"I'll say." She almost smiled this time. "Mr. Waverly isn't going to be happy."

"He never is."

"That's far enough, Illya." Napoleon moved toward him, his gun held in front of him in a firm grip. Illya held his breath, willing the second part of his plan to work. Because if Napoleon managed to search him and found the antidote…

Illya didn't even have time to complete his thought as a large explosion ripped through the outbuilding behind him. He'd been expecting it, so he wasn't as stunned as the rest of them. Napoleon and the two Thrush men were staring at the burning building with expressions of disbelief. Mark had let go of April and was doing likewise. Illya ran forward, grabbed April and pulled her toward the woods.

"Run!" he yelled.

He was hoping that the explosion would gain them enough time to make it to cover, and it nearly worked. But the Thrush and their U.N.C.L.E. allies must have recovered when Illya and April were mere strides away from the tree line, since Illya heard the sound of gunfire open up behind him.

He pushed himself to go faster, and April matched his speed. Then, just as they reached the first stand of trees, he heard one final shot and April faltered beside him. He didn't let go of her hand, and didn't slow his stride, but kept pulling her into the woods until they were deep enough that Illya felt he could stop for a moment.

"Where are you hit?"

"The arm," April said through gritted teeth. "You should leave me."

"Don't be ridiculous." He examined her arm and found the bullet had gone through flesh but had missed bone. "You're fine."

"Right. All I have to do is avoid capture in a forest in winter in the middle of the night while not bleeding to death."

"Don't you always insist that women are far tougher than men?"

"You're a hard-hearted man, Illya Kuryakin."

"Tell me that again when we're sitting in New York at your favourite restaurant." Illya took April's hand once again and started moving away from the station.

"At least tell me help is on the way."

"Mr. Waverly was putting together a team when I left." Illya checked his watch. "If we're lucky, they'll arrive in less than an hour."

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I don't think we've been very lucky so far."

"Well, then," Illya said with a grin. "Our luck can only improve."

* * *

Illya almost thought they'd failed before they'd begun. He watched as April faced down Mark and Napoleon and the man from Thrush, watched as she shuddered and swayed and began to collapse. He cursed himself for not noticing how much April had been hurt, how close to her breaking point she'd been pushed.

He watched as Mark moved in to catch his partner, some innate protectiveness overcoming the Thrush programming. And then he realized his mistake as April came alive in Mark's arms, pulling the injection gun from her pocket and jamming it into Mark's arm before he could react.

Mark dropped immediately into the snow, with April just managing to avoid falling with him. Illya hoped that Mittell and his team hadn't miscalculated and created an antidote that was deadly rather than restorative, even as he had an injection gun in his own hand and was running toward his own partner. He was lucky that Napoleon was still reeling from April's actions, and he managed to jam the gun into Napoleon's arm and pull the trigger. The gun delivered its payload with an audible hiss and Napoleon, too, dropped to the snowy ground.

And that should have been it, partners saved, victory achieved, happily ever after theirs to savour. Except that in his plans, Illya hadn't counted on facing an armed member of Thrush with no weapon of his own, one colleague wounded and two others unconscious. He wished, not for the first time, that he'd been able to take out all the Thrush at the ranger's station.

The Thrush man, for his part, seemed to have recovered from his shock at the last few seconds' events. He held his gun steadily, aiming it between the two of them.

"Over there," he said, gesturing with his gun to an area perhaps ten feet away from him. "Both of you."

Illya dropped the injection gun--it was no use to him now--and moved to assist April.

"What did you do to them?" the Thrush asked. Mark and Napoleon were behind him, but it was clear whom he was asking about.

"Gave them an antidote to your drugs."

"There isn't supposed to be an antidote." The man spoke as if his words could change the state of the universe.

"I'm afraid there is." Illya projected a confidence in the cure that he wasn't sure he felt. "And we have it."

The man didn't say any more, just stared at them with hatred and determination and possibly a little bit of fear. Illya wondered what the price of failure was in Thrush these days.

"What are you going to do with us?" he asked.

"My orders were to bring you in and use the conditioning treatment on you both. But now…"

"Now?" Illya prompted.

"If you can break the conditioning, there's no point. And no need to keep you prisoner."

Illya felt an icy needle that had nothing to do with the winter's cold penetrate his gut, even as April clutched at his sleeve.

"Turn around, Mr. Kuryakin. Miss Dancer."

"No stomach for killing face to face?" Illya taunted.

"Turn around," the Thrush man insisted, his face implacable.

His arm around April's shoulder, Illya obeyed. "I'm sorry, April."

"Not your fault, Illya." April straightened her shoulders and gave him a look as brave as any he'd ever seen.

Illya clenched his jaw and waited for the pain of a bullet and the blackness of oblivion.

But when the sound of a gunshot came, neither he nor April fell. They looked at each other, Illya seeing the same expression of shocked yet pleased surprise on April's face that he was sure he was wearing himself. They turned in time to see the Thrush, looking at them in astonishment as he collapsed. Behind him, Mark Slate was standing, a gun held in his hand. Napoleon was staggering to his feet.

"Can't let you go anywhere by yourself, can I love?" Mark looked unsteady and more than a bit nauseous, but he was managing to stay upright.

"You should talk. I'm not the one who was brainwashed by Thrush."

"I don't suppose that was a sleep dart." Illya said as he watched a stain darken the snow around the very still Thrush.

"The gun's Thrush issue," Mark said. "I suppose I could have asked him to wait while I went back and got your U.N.C.L.E. special."

"No, that's quite all right."

"You'll have to excuse my partner, Mark." Napoleon struggled through the snow over to Illya's side. "He's not the best at expressing his thanks."

"Thank you, Mark," Illya said with all the courtly graciousness he'd learned while studying in England. Then he turned to Napoleon. "As for you, I'm not letting you go into any strange planetariums without me."

"Why, Illya. I didn't know you cared."

"I care when you get captured and turned into a Thrush minion."

"I'd never make a minion. I see myself more as leader material."

"You…"

Whatever Illya had been about to say was cut short as a truck rumbled into sight on the road. Illya tensed, while Mark and Napoleon aimed their Thrush supplied weapons on the vehicle. But then the cab door opened for Mr. Waverly and a stream of U.N.C.L.E. agents poured out of the back.

"Mr. Kuryakin," Waverly said in his usual distinguished tones. "I see you have everything under control.

"Yes, sir."

"Mr. Solo, Mr. Slate, I trust you won't give us a fright like that again."

"Not if we can help it, sir," Napoleon said calmly, while Mark tried not to look sheepish behind him.

"Good, good." Waverly looked at the Thrush man, dead on the ground. "Ah, Roland Devereux. I wondered who was in charge of this little scheme."

"Do you know him?" Illya couldn't help but be curious about the man who'd caused them so much grief.

"Know of him, more like. He's rumoured to be head of psychological warfare in Thrush. I've been waiting for him to come up with something like this for a while."

"What exactly was their plan?" Illya asked. "It seems a bit scattershot, brainwashing children at a planetarium."

"At the ranger's station," April said, "Devereux told us that the idea was to create as many sleeper agents as possible, and then to track them. If any child, or adult, became important enough or useful enough, they would be activated and used as a Thrush asset. They were thinking in terms of decades, not just days or weeks."

"When Napoleon and I arrived at the show, they couldn't believe their luck," Mark said, continuing the tale. "They decided to activate us immediately."

"Well, Mr. Slate, you're fortunate that you both have partner's who know you well enough to realize when you've been brainwashed. And the world is fortunate as well." Waverly looked around. "Were there any other enemy agents that need to be dealt with?"

"There were two others at a ranger's station a few miles back." Napoleon pointed back in the direction they'd all come from. "Illya shot one, but you might find the other if you hurry."

"Then we should hustle." Waverly motioned the team to return to the truck. "If you'd like a ride back…"

Mark and Napoleon both looked at the truck with a distinctly nauseous expression. Illya stepped in to save his friends from a bumpy ride in a bare truck bed.

"Perhaps we could take the snowmobiles back to the station. They'll need to be taken back at some time." Napoleon's expression brightened immediately and even Mark looked marginally happier.

"What about you, Miss Dancer? That arm looks like it should be seen to."

"I'll stay with my partner, sir," April said with a wink that told Illya she still had some energy to spare. "Never know when he'll need me."

"Very well." Waverly began walking back to the truck. "I'll see you all back at the station."

The four friends watched as Waverly and the team drove away.

"You sure you're okay to stay with us, April?" Mark put an arm around his partner, careful not to jostle her wound.

"Absolutely, Mark. I didn't fancy bouncing around the back of that truck either. Much rather ride with you."

"Are you ready, _tovarishch_?" Napoleon asked, his eyes asking the questions he never would voice. _Are we okay? Do you still trust me?_

"When you are, partner," Illya responding, answering in the best way he knew. _Of course we're okay. I'll always trust you._

"Our chariots await," Napoleon said, his smile assuring Illya he had been understood.

Half way to the snowmobiles, Mark stopped in his tracks. Looking at him, Illya could see he'd gone white, his eyes wide.

"What is it, Mark," April asked, her eyes scanning their surroundings for threat. "Are there any Thrush we missed?"

"No, it's not that." Mark visibly swallowed. "I've just realized that Waverly is going to need agents to track down all those children that visited the planetarium to give them the antidote. And with you recovering from that bullet…"

"You think he might send you," April said, finishing his thought.

"Bloody hell." Mark looked like he was about to face a firing squad. "I wonder if I could persuade Waverly to send me to North Dakota after all."

"You'd rather face minus 50 degree weather than a few kids?" April's disbelief was clear from her expression.

"I'd rather face a troop of armed Thrush agents than a bunch of sprogs. Forces for chaos, that's what children are. "

"Don't worry," Illya said, trying to keep a straight face. "We'll put in a good word for you with Waverly. Won't we, Napoleon?"

"Absolutely." Napoleon gave a grin that told Illya they were on the same page. "We'll tell Waverly how well you work with children."

Illya was never sure after if the queasy look on Mark's face during the ride back to the station was a side effect of the antidote or a result of Mark considering the thought of dealing with hundreds of screaming children on U.N.C.L.E.'s behalf.


End file.
